Changeling Dawn Page 9

  Josh flagged down a passing waitress for a menu. “Okay, but I’ve got a couple important questions for you first. Like, did you order already?”

  “Nope, but I’m going with the halibut burger.”

  “You always have the halibut burger.”

  “I stick with what works. By the way, I had Mimi stash half a rhubarb pie in the kitchen for us, before it was all gone.”

  “I love you, man.” He ducked the file folder that swatted at him. The waitress took their orders to the kitchen and Josh glanced around to make sure he couldn’t be overheard. The last of the lunch crowd was shuffling out the door. A gaggle of teens was slumped in the far corner booth but they were giggling over their iPhones. It was more than enough noise to cover anything he might say. “Stanton, I’ve got a lost shapeshifter. A kid.”

  The vet nearly dropped the papers in his hands. “You’re shitting me, Tark. Where on God’s green earth did you find an unattended werewolf child?”

  He told his friend all he knew, and for once, Stanton didn’t interrupt him. The food arrived and the older man remained quiet, frowning as he ate. Josh made it halfway through his triple Pioneer burger before the vet finally spoke.

  “Finding this kid’s folks is going to be tough. You have to understand, there’s no organized Pack around here. Werewolves in this region tend to be loners like myself or isolated families.”

  Josh noted that Stanton had never used the term Changeling. As blunt as the old guy was, he probably felt that werewolf was plain and to the point. Or maybe it conjured up a more dangerous image, one that the veteran of two wars and God knew what else could relate to. “So I take it you haven’t heard any rumors or anything.”

  “How the hell would I hear something? I’m trying to tell you there’s no natural network. If you want to talk to a werewolf in this part of the country, Tark, you have to damn well go out there and find them or wait until they come to town, because most of the ones I know don’t even have a bloody phone.”

  “See, that’s why I need your help, because I’m not a shapeshifter. It’d take me forever to find them, and they’re not likely to talk to me if I did. But someone’s got to get a message out somehow, or we’re never going to find who this kid belongs to. Or what happened to her.”

  “Something happened to her?” For a split second, Josh saw the wolf behind Stanton’s eyes plainly.

  “The little girl’s still on four feet. She won’t shift back to her human form, so something has to have scared the hell out of her. Put that together with missing parents and it doesn’t look good.”

  “Bloody hell, okay, okay. I could go out tonight, hunt down a couple wolves I know. They could relay the message further on and so forth. They’ll do it for a kid, believe me. But it’s damn well going to cost you.”

  Josh rolled his eyes and held up his hands in mock surrender. “All right, what do you want?”

  “Not much, just a ride in your bird.” Stanton tugged a map out from under a folder. “I want a look at this IBC place I’ve been telling you about.”

  “What, you can’t use Google Earth?”

  “Doesn’t show up. The entire area is blurred out. You’d think it was a military site or something. So are you going to fly me over it or not?”

  “Sure, no problem. But it’s a department chopper so any passenger has to be on official business. You’ll have to check on some animal’s condition or something. I’ll have to get creative and find just the right case, something where your services are genuinely useful, so you’ll have to give me a little time.”

  “Good deal. Now let me show you what I’ve got.” Stanton spread out some papers in front of Josh, who stoically assumed an interested expression while preparing himself to be bored to tears.

  “Here’s a copy of the permit issued to IBC, allowing them to build this facility. Notice that it doesn’t say specifically what it’s for.”

  Josh pointed to a square on the form. “It says environmental research right there.”

  “And just what the hell does that mean? If I take my fish finder out in the middle of the bloody lake, I can say I’m doing environmental research too. Now look here.” He spread out another paper. “They’re not one of those non-profit organizations either, they’re a business of some sort. It took me quite a while but I finally found the IBC’s website. And that’s weird right off the bat—the point of having a website is to have what they call an internet presence. Any business wants their site to be easy to find, right? Not these guys. Know what I found on their site?”

  “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  “Sweet nothing.” Stanton slapped the paper with his hand. “Zip. Zero. Nada.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Most businesses list their hierarchy—you know, their CEO, board members, stuff like that. This has no names on it whatsoever. And you know what? That stuff isn’t listed in their LLC application either—that’s limited liability company by the way.”

  “Yeah, but come on, there’re signatures on all these papers. Somebody’s in charge.”

  “Somebody, yes, but not one of these names. As far as I can determine, these people don’t exist.”

  Stanton took his conspiracy theories seriously enough that he had computer programs that could locate almost anyone on the planet, plus where they lived, how many people were in their family, where they shopped, banked, and worked. Josh wouldn’t have been surprised if Stanton knew what they ate for breakfast. “Phony names?”

  “And phony addresses. Cell phone numbers that are no longer in service. This is a ghost company, Tark.”

  “But you’re saying there’s a very real building—”

  “The permit says a building. I think it’s more likely an entirely self-contained complex. It would have to be, just look at where the hell it is.”

  “Okay, so there’s this complex, just a few miles from where Kenzie’s digging.”

  “Yup. And we don’t know a thing about it.”

  Josh waited a beat. Then two. “Aren’t you going to tell me it’s a secret government project?”

  “Even when it’s being secretive, the government tends to be predictable—after all, why change tactics that work? I don’t see their fat fingerprints on this one, Tark.”

  Kenzie liked children—she adored her nieces and nephew—but on the rare occasions that she babysat James’s twins, Birkie usually came along to tag team. Nothing surprised Birkie (not even a crayon wedged up Hailey’s nose or Hunter painting the cat green), but then she was a mother herself. Maybe both competence and confidence came over time to a parent, but as an aunt, Kenzie mostly played with the kids and then gave them back to their parents. She felt responsible for this little Changeling child, but couldn’t think of what else to do for her other than make sure she was fed.

  The cub seemed perfectly happy with that. And appeared content to follow Kenzie around too. They were settling into a routine of sorts: They both went to the dig every morning, where Kenzie talked aloud about what she was doing and why, hoping that the cub would get used to her, and maybe eventually trust her. So far, the cub always stayed a few feet away, close enough to see what Kenzie was doing yet still far enough to flee.

  The whole day would go like that, until Kenzie decided enough work had been done. Then, for the cub’s sake, Kenzie shifted to lupine form and declared a play time. The gray wolf chased the little Changeling, then turned and allowed it to chase her. They played tug of war with sticks, then hide and seek. Kenzie wished that wolves were physically capable of laughter—there were times she was sure that she would explode with built-up mirth, especially after the cub came pouncing out of the ferns and attacked her with mock growls and tiny teeth. They wrestled until it was obvious that her little charge was tired. While the cub rested, Kenzie would hunt down something for it to eat, then the two of them would head back to camp.

  The wolf cub continued to make its bed under the camp table, close enough to be warmed by the fire
yet far from Kenzie’s human reach. At least she’s safe here. No predator would come near her camp. Adult Changelings were generally accorded a healthy respect by the animal population.

  “So what do I call you? I have to call you something,” she said on the second night, as the cub stalked a cricket in the grass. “I know you’re a little girl, but I don’t know what your name is. If you don’t tell me, I might have to make up a name for you.”

  The cub looked up in surprise.

  “How about Gertrude,” tested Kenzie. “Or Penelope? Ernestine or Beulah might be nice.” She tried out every unfashionable name she could think of, knowing how her niece, Hailey, would respond to such dreadful suggestions. “There’s Minerva. Maybe Prudence or Ursella.”

  The cub stopped playing and stared at her with wide eyes.

  “I know,” Kenzie clapped her hands in mock glee. “I could call you Frederika! Then I could call you Fred for short! You know, I’ll just bet that’s your real name, isn’t it?”

  The cub took a step back and sneezed. Twice.

  Anya! The voice was loud, clear, and indignant in Kenzie’s head. My name is Anya, not Fred. Fred’s a stupid name! And my mom told me not to talk to strangers!

  Anya whirled and stomped off—actually stomped, although it should have been physically impossible for a wolf—then curled up under the camp table with her back to Kenzie.

  Kenzie sat stunned, a slow grin spreading over her face. Then she rubbed it off with both hands—she had an apology to make, and for that, a sober expression would work a lot better.

  Josh’s chance to make good on his promise to Stanton came up almost immediately. A Mentasta Lake resident had a pet fox tied up that had bitten two people plus its owner. Josh had rolled his eyes when he got the call. People never seemed to learn that they couldn’t take the wild out of a wild animal. Sure, the fox was undoubtedly cute and friendly as a pup, but as it grew, it would become what Nature intended—a predator—and its personality would change. In this case, rabies was a possibility too and a vet’s expertise could be helpful. Usually Josh would submit a proposal and request to HQ, and then there’d be paperwork prior to approval, liability forms out the wazoo ... and the damn fox could have bitten six more people before he got up there. Easier to get forgiveness than permission.

  “Make sure your receptionist doesn’t bill the department for this,” he cautioned Stanton as he belted himself into the passenger seat. “I’m bringing you along as a volunteer consultant. That way, you’re allowed to ride in the department’s bird and you’ll be covered by their insurance. As soon as I do the damn paperwork. If you need reimbursement, I’ll pay for it myself.”

  The vet snorted. “You just fly over IBC on the way back and we’re good. And Tark?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t crash.”

  It wasn’t long after they arrived that Stanton diagnosed distemper in the fox and also in the neighbor’s two young Labradors. The fox was too far gone to be helped and was euthanized. To be safe, Stanton was taking the body back with him for rabies testing. He ordered both Labs to be kenneled immediately. Distemper was highly contagious and usually fatal. There was no cure for the disease but it hadn’t advanced very far in the dogs. Supportive treatment, such as IVs for hydration, might save them. With all the efficiency of his military background, Stanton drafted a local retired nurse to help manage the Labradors’ care, then made arrangements with the community leaders for an emergency canine vaccination clinic to be held on Saturday.

  “Are you sending somebody up here or coming back yourself?” Josh asked when they returned to the chopper. He didn’t get a chance to see his friend in action very often and had almost forgotten what a force of nature the man could be.

  “There’s no one to send—not many veterinarians in the region. Doc Baker over in Wasilla might travel up with me, though. An outbreak of canine distemper could take out most, if not all, the dogs in the village—and from what I see, there’s more damn dogs than people. We’ll vaccinate for rabies and parvo at the same time.”

  “Good deal. Now how about giving me the coordinates for your mysterious building.”

  “I told you it’s gotta be more than just a building.” Stanton produced a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket pocket and read off the location. “Gotta be.”

  There was forest and more forest below, broken only by ribbons of water and the occasional overgrown logging road. Josh wondered why on earth anyone would base their operations in such a remote place—and exactly what operations were suited to this degree of isolation? Of course, there was that research station, HAARP, which studied the aurora. To do so effectively, it required a clear view of the northern lights, unobstructed by the artificial lights of a town or city, and so the installation had been built in the middle of the forest north of Gakona. It made sense—weren’t most observatories located far from human habitation? Stanton, of course, had other theories about what was really being studied at HAARP and expounded on them frequently. Josh usually stopped listening somewhere between military conspiracy and blowing up the ionosphere.

  A break in the trees appeared ahead.

  “There it is—that’s it, that’s it.” Stanton sounded excited. “Get us closer, Tark.”

  It seemed to be a natural clearing, a rocky outcropping flanked by a river. There was nothing natural about the tall chain-link fencing that surrounded it, or the razor wire along the top that gleamed in the sun. Inside, near the west side of the compound, was a very large metal-clad building with only a few small windows. A number of smaller service buildings stood in a tidy row along the forested north side, while a long row of what looked like bunkhouses lined the east boundary, overlooking a river that ran just outside the fence. Power was obviously supplied by an enormous wind turbine looming on the north side like a futuristic tree. The method of communication was also obvious—a sizeable signal dish was perched on the roof of the main building. And in the exact center of everything was a target-like helicopter pad, occupied by something very familiar to Josh. “That’s an old Sikorsky Jayhawk.”

  Stanton squinted at it. “I thought only the Coast Guard had those.”

  Josh shrugged. “They upgrade their equipment like everyone else. Maybe they sold off some of their older choppers.” Made by the same company, the Jayhawk boasted a similar basic design to the Blackhawk he’d flown in Afghanistan. Of course, the Coast Guard version didn’t require the machine guns, rockets, and missiles that the Blackhawk had. And this one’s color didn’t resemble either one—its shiny new paint job was the same sterile white as the buildings. But the outline, the shape, was true to his warbird. A strange mixture of sentiment and apprehension settled into his gut.

  “Didn’t I tell you they’d have a whole compound? Self-contained, just like I said. Damn, it’s nearly big enough for two football fields. And the main building could be used as a hangar.”

  “Okay, okay, you told me. But what the hell’s it for?” Josh could see no specialized equipment, just three white pickup trucks and six white ATVs parked neatly in an open garage. Who the hell would paint an ATV white? All-terrain vehicles were built for one thing in Josh’s book: getting as dirty as possible.

  Suddenly three men came out a side door, each leading an enormous dog. They crossed the compound, heading toward an outbuilding. Both animals and humans glanced up at the government chopper but didn’t seem concerned.

  Stanton grabbed the binoculars first. “Don’t recognize those guys. Wonder what they use the big-ass dogs for.”

  “Maybe to chase off bears.”

  The old vet snorted. “Tell you what, it looks like a damn POW camp to me.”

  Josh didn’t recognize the men either, at least not from what he could see of their features. If he’d had his M22 binocs from his service days, he could have counted their nose hairs. He gave the glasses back to his friend and circled the perimeter one last time. Rubbed the back of his neck where a headache was taking root. “Are we done here?�
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  “Yeah.” Stanton sounded reluctant. “Yeah, I guess. Not much to see, really. Not a goddamn hint of what all this is for. It has to have been a big investment to put up this place—it’s a helluva long way to haul building supplies and construction equipment, not to mention bringing in workers.”

  “Yes and no. That old Sikorsky can carry a lot, believe me. You know, maybe you could find somebody who helped build the place, talk to them. They had to have hired some locals for a project like this.”

  “When I come back for the vaccination clinic, you bet I’ll be asking questions.”

  Josh was just a little bit glad he wasn’t going to be part of that expedition. Maybe it was part of his Changeling nature, but the old vet could be a lot like a damn pit bull when he wanted information.

  “I didn’t see a sign or a logo or even a name, did you? Seems like they’re trying to be anonymous. Maybe we should go around again. I want to look at—”

  Josh didn’t hear the end of Stanton’s sentence. He was staring at the Jayhawk on the tarmac pad, its white surface gleaming in the sun—and the tiny figure beside it. She looked up at him and waved, her red and green tunic and shawl fluttering in the breeze.

  Chapter Eight

  Something rocked Josh, battered at his awareness. The figure vanished and he realized that Stanton’s fist was bashing the hell out of his shoulder.

  “Tark! Put down now!”

  “Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Instinct guided him, and he landed the Raven on the wide grassy clearing away from the buildings with barely a bump. Powered down the rotors. Their throbbing slowed and subsided, unlike the pounding in his head.

  Stanton was out of his seat at once, checking Josh over like a boxing coach and shining a penlight in each eye. “What the bloody hell was that? Where were you? You seemed to go completely blank, like there was nobody home, and you were still flying the damn helicopter like some kind of human autopilot. Stick out your tongue.”